Just Like Me
by Naishu
Summary: "We locked eyes and I couldn't help but catch something; not her emotion but her lack of it. I had to be wrong of course, but the look shared at this exact moment told me something: she was exactly like me." M - Not sure yet.


**AN: Just a fun make-believe piece that I couldn't get out of my head while watching season one. I have this habit of loving characters that disappear after a season and it drives me crazy! It seems that my recent infatuation with Rudy/Brian is no different. Smart, bold, and educated; What's not to love? Either way this takes place before his decision to grab Dex's attention, who knows, maybe she'll be the imaginary start of his sibling journey.**

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><p>There was something about her. I'd been watching, waiting carefully for the next piece of my twisted artisan puzzle when she'd slowly crossed the view of my windshield. Nylon cord criss-crossed up her legs – beautiful, sinewy legs – and although she wore a thick wool sweater I could see the reflection of a cheap metallic blue top, the kind that appealed to perverts watching porn or desperate husbands who had been shunned by their wives. I'd never seen her here before, never seen her face among the endless repetition of strung-out crack addicts and bodies for sale. Maybe that was where my fascination began. She reached the other side of the street and it was only then that I realized that my knuckles were blank white from my immoveable grip on the wheel. If I were conscious of my body I probably would have been shocked by the rampantly intrigued beating in my heart, but I wasn't. I was only conscious of the excitement surrounding the discovery of my next piece; the next perfectly colored paint for my tableau of fading life.<p>

I pulled a creeping U-Turn, cautious of the barely-clad bodies that crossed my view and I followed where she'd gone. She was aimlessly walking down an alley, her heels echoing dull and shrill on the concrete; she was missing a cap on the bottom of one. Although her path was lost, almost drunk, she walked with the grace and agility of a predator. I imagine I came across with the same impression after a long session with a new doll. I slid the car to a slow roll beside her and the window slid down with ease. The seconds dragged and I quickly realized that unlike her money hungry counterparts she wasn't interested in approaching the car. I was annoyed; I didn't like to bother with chasing – I loved the willing – yet somehow I pressed on instead of looping around for an eager participant.

"Are you just not interested in money?" I asked.

She didn't turn. "I'm not interested in your fantasy." She said. I found some undignified amount of intrigue in the sentence.

"And what exactly do you think that is?"

She stopped. She padded to the car in her miss-matched sounding heels in the same lanky pace that she'd avoided me with. She stared at me for a long moment. "That I want what you have to offer."

I smiled. Was it a ploy for my intrigue or did she really understand what it was that I wanted from her? "And what is it that I have to offer?"

Her mouth pulled to a one-sided grin and stared at me once again. "not much more than any other man out here tonight, I imagine…or will you prove me wrong?"

We locked eyes and I couldn't help but catch something; not her emotion but her lack of it. I had to be wrong of course, but the look shared at this exact moment told me something; she was exactly like me. "How much could I pay you to pretend to believe?" Of course I would get it all back later, but I didn't really care.

She looked away and sighed. "What do you normally pay for your fun?"

Instead of responding I held up the bills. Any normal hooker would only manage a hundred or so from my wallet, but for some reason I held five bills. There was something to be said for enjoyment; even if I was getting the money back later the significance of my fake offering was something she was worthy of, even if it was only a symbol of my interest.

She looked at the bills idly. She ignored them and walked around the car to slide into the passenger's seat. I could feel the heat of the blood rushing under my skin as my prey slid unsuspecting into the car, but for some reason the rush was different this time; was this exhilaration? I wasn't sure. I wasn't used to feeling anything other than peaceful enjoyment while completing my life's work or the ever present pride surrounding its results. Why would this doll interest me? As I pulled out of the neighbourhood I realized that it was because she was missing something intriguingly significant. Although she had every beautifully carved limb she was missing something, and it was what was missing that titillated me. Regardless, I was sure that her unnerving intrigue would be snuffed out soon enough. I looked at her through my peripherals and confirmed the suspicion that she'd been staring at me.

"The street doesn't seem to be your thing." I said.

Her laugh was barely discernible; it could have been a sigh if I hadn't been so in-tune. "twenty-dollar hookers don't seem to be your thing." Deflection.

"What makes you say that?"

"Your car, your clothes, and the air of self-pride that floats around you; you know exactly what you have going for you. Why no two-thousand dollar escort? Where's the expensive whore for your undoubtedly expensive lifestyle?"

I smiled. The majority of the 'twenty dollar hookers' that I'd picked up for my hobby had drawled the same ill-spoken lines in the same street-broken slang: '_Hey hun, what'chu wanna do?', 'hey handsome, you wanna good time?', 'sixty bucks gets whatever you want baby'_. Either she was extremely good at toying with her customers or she really wasn't aware of the sad repetition of her coworkers. "Fair enough." I looked at her. "So, why the street?"

She smiled, seemingly unsure of whether or not to speak. "Where do you truly live?"

On the edge.

No, scratch that, over it. "In the suburbs? You'll see soon enough." What did she expect me to answer with? Who cared.

She laughed. "I didn't ask where you reside. I asked where you _live._"

"I'm not sure what you mean." I wasn't particularly intrigued, but I'd give her the benefit of her last living conversation.

"There's only one reason I can think of that someone like you would be trolling the ugly heart of Miami."

I grinned. "Someone like me?"

"You know exactly what I mean. Do you expect me to believe that you need hookers?"

"A guy can't be shy?"

"A guy can be, but you're not that guy." She was right, but it was unnerving.

"Are you always so pointed to your customers?" I raised an eyebrow.

She grinned and raised her own. "I don't take customers."

I looked at her for a long moment as we passed through a tunnel. The lights and signs flashed by as I balanced between her and the road. "Cop?" The last thing I needed was to be caught soliciting.

"Hardly."

Thank-god. "Then what?"

"I'm one of you."

Whatever she assumed had to be wrong. "And what am I?"

"Fuck it."

She grabbed my arm! The car swerved into oncoming traffic and the blaring of a transport's horn screamed through my ears!

"You know exactly what I'm talking about! Now where is it that you're most alive!" The truck loomed closer, I couldn't go like this; not with some crazy fucking whore sending my plans crashing to an end before they'd even taken off the ground.

"The kill!"

She held on until a fraction of a second before we would have hit. I swerved back into my lane, not thinking twice before pulling directly into a parking lot overlooking a marina and yanking her brutally into a strong sleeper hold. To my surprise she didn't resist.

"Now we're getting somewhere." The same smile from earlier pulled at her mouth as she sank into seemingly blissful unconsciousness.

The rest of the drive was uneventful as she sat almost lifelessly slumped against the passenger door. What was less than uneventful was the constantly churning stream of thoughts in my head. She hadn't been shocked at all by my admission. There was no fear, no worry, just the knowing smile of someone who was in her own words '_just like me'_.


End file.
